Reality TV – Bitch Flicks

The Women of ‘American Ninja Warrior’ Challenge Gender Stereotypes

‘American Ninja Warrior’ may not have had any intentions of connecting to feminism necessarily, but they have created a platform for women to shine in multiple ways and to inspire other women, whether athletically or not.

This is a guest post written by Cameron Airen, who interviewed Joyce Shahboz and Michelle Warnky.

“What!? Shut the front door. She’s about to do the impossible for the second time,” shouted the hosts of American Ninja Warrior as millions of us watched 5’0”, 95lb Kacy Catanzaro become the first woman to hit a city finals course. This meant that she was the first woman to qualify for Mount Midoriyama, the finals in Las Vegas consisting of four stages. Catanzaro’s achievement was led by her being the first woman in the history of the show to beat the warped wall and finish a qualifying course. She made history that year on American Ninja Warrior, but she wasn’t the only one.

2014 of American Ninja Warrior was the year of many firsts for women. Michelle Warnky and Meagan Martin were the second and third women to make it up the warped wall and hit buzzers on their city’s qualifying course following Catanzaro. This was the first time this many women qualified for a city’s finals course in the same season.

There are five women veterans on American Ninja Warrior that particularly stand out. Catanzaro, Warnky, and Martin are three of them. Jessie Graff was the first woman to complete five obstacles and the second woman, besides Catanzaro, to qualify for the Vegas finals. Joyce Shahboz was one of the first women to compete on the American Ninja Warrior course and has been participating since season four. At 44 years old, she is also the oldest woman “to make it to Vegas and to the 5th obstacle.” One of the reasons to love American Ninja Warrior is because it represents athletes of all ages. Shahboz told me, “There are things I can do now that I couldn’t do 3-4 years ago and I’m 44 as of today!”

One of the most captivating aspects of American Ninja Warrior is that the women compete on the same platform as the men, making gender irrelevant. This appeals to Warnky, who said,

“I know many people have made comments to me about having a separate Ninja Warrior for ladies. But for myself and at least several other ladies I’ve talked to, we like that extra challenge, we like the strength that is required, and we enjoy competing with the guys.”

The hosts of American Ninja Warrior, Matt Iseman and Akbar Gbajabiamila, generally do a good job of not making a big deal of gender in relation to one’s performance on the course. During Martin’s run at the 2014 Denver finals, Gbajabiamila exclaimed, “She’s got the athleticism; she’s got the upper body strength; she’s built for American Ninja Warrior — that’s for sure!” This is a testament of how the course, with different obstacles that benefit different athletic strengths, is made for people of all genders.

By participating on American Ninja Warrior, women get to demonstrate their strength and other abilities, challenging the gender stereotypes placed upon them. There’s no doubt that the women have the strength, including upper body strength, in order to finish all of the obstacles. In fact, the upper body exercises are the women ninjas’ favorites to perform. Shahboz pointed out,

“The upper body challenges are appealing to us. In Japan, the Women of Ninja Warrior course isn’t as upper body intensive, and we all felt that was our forte and wanted more of the physical strength challenge instead of the balance challenges.”

On a tougher course with new obstacles, Jessie Graff was the first athlete to get the farthest on the 2015 Venice finals course. Even though she didn’t complete the course, she came close, making it to the second to last obstacle, giving it her best fight. Only the top 15 qualify for Vegas and she finished in sixth. Graff ended up being the woman who made it the farthest in a city finals course across the nation.

There is a huge gender disparity on American Ninja Warrior and that needs to change if we want to see women succeed more than they already do on the show. If there were as many women on the show as there are men, then there would be a greater chance of women making if farther. No woman has made it up the warped wall and hit the buzzer on stage one in Vegas yet in the history of the show. Shahboz believes it’s because of numbers: “We just haven’t had enough of us trying it out or training at the necessary level until now.” In season four, there were four women, Shahboz included, and 96 men competing in stage one in the Vegas finals. Warnky believes that the biggest challenge women face on stage one in Vegas is speed:

“I know Jessie Graff and I had many conversations and really wanted to beat it and knew we both had the ability to. Time plays a big factor in Vegas. In the regional rounds, most of us women play it pretty safe with time and don’t rush ourselves, whereas in Vegas, women are not able to stall much at all and need to go quickly through the obstacles and in-between the obstacles. Also, any time a girl does pretty well, history can be made, so I think we tend to focus on the safer and surer ways to do things, which isn’t really possible in stage 1. But I do think I have the ability to complete it, as do several other girls, we just didn’t make it happen the day it counted. Hopefully we’ll make that change soon!”

Even though the numbers are still low, more women competed in 2015 than any other year. In an interview with The Hollywood Reporter, executive producer of American Ninja Warrior, Kent Weed, said that the producers want more women competing and doing well, and that we will see more women compete as the show progresses. He doesn’t believe that succeeding at the obstacles has to do with gender and is confident that we will see our first woman to complete stage one in Vegas next year in 2016. Warnky expressed, “Hopefully, the show has encouraged other women to push their limits.” The more women see other women competing on the show, the more they will be inspired to train for it and get accepted.

“Could a woman ever win American Ninja Warrior?” an E! Online interviewer asked Isaac Caldiero after he became the first ever winner of American Ninja Warrior. Without hesitation, Caldiero responded, “Definitely. My girlfriend, Laura, could win it!” Even asking the question shows how far we have come in changing sexist beliefs and attitudes about women’s abilities. When Shahboz competed in season four, she was known for going farther than her husband. She said,

“People who didn’t know me or him would occasionally comment to him about getting beat by his wife. People would ask me, ‘How’d your husband take it?’ It’s still amazing to me that people still have the notion that ‘getting beat by a girl’ is an issue.”

Unfortunately, it is still an issue, otherwise the question of whether a woman could win wouldn’t even have been asked. But, American Ninja Warrior plays a pivotal role in changing all of that.

One way that the show doesn’t reinforce gender distinctions, aside from having women compete on the same platform as the men, is by not referencing gender when discussing an athlete’s abilities. During Martin’s performance at the Vegas 2014 finals, Gbajabiamila said,

“I’ve had a lot of sport heroes in my life: Muhammad Ali, Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson…Oh, add Meagan Martin to the list, what she did was phenomenal.”

Another way American Ninja Warrior doesn’t emphasis gender is that the athletes are all in support and cheer of each other. Shahboz pointed out that her male ninja competitors “have always been encouraging and supportive, it’s never been a guy vs. gal thing.” It’s refreshing to see a friendly community be positive and supportive of one another despite gender and background. This is definitely a rarity for competition shows on TV.

A sense of unity exists among the women of American Ninja Warrior. Even though it is a reality TV show, we don’t see unnecessary drama. It’s a show with friendly competition where the athletes support each other. This is a rarity on TV in general, especially in reality TV where women are often depicted as wanting to tear each other to shreds. It’s quite the opposite on American Ninja Warrior, making it one of those rare athletic competitions where you want everyone to do well. When one ninja falls, the other is sad that her fellow competitor did not make it. The women even travel to other cities to cheer each other on.

This solidarity is powerful and creates a positive influence for women and feminism. We need to see more of it onscreen. American Ninja Warrior may not have had any intentions of connecting to feminism necessarily, but they have created a platform for women to shine in multiple ways and to inspire other women, whether athletically or not. Athletics is often viewed as a metaphor for the rest of our lives. What one learns in being able to conquer a physical obstacle can translate to facing obstacles in other aspects of life. The women on American Ninja Warrior are powerful examples of women coming into and owning their own power, whatever that may look like.

Check out a more in depth interview I did with Joyce Shahboz and Michelle Warnky.

Cameron Airen is a queer feminist with a M.A. in Anthropology and Social Change. She loves to dissect and write about women and gender in film/TV. Cameron is also passionate about vegan cooking and resides in Berkeley, Calif.

‘Keeping Up with the Kardashians’: Is Kris Jenner a Bad Mother?

When their lives are out there for all the world to see, it’s easy to judge the Kardashians.

This guest post by Scarlett Harris is an edited version of a piece originally published on The Scarlett Woman and is part of our theme week on Bad Mothers.

She’s constantly on Khloe for her weight, Kim to prioritise her money-making appearances with family and love, and Kourtney to get married before she has another child. Not to mention that she neglects, according to them, Rob (who hasn’t been seen on the show in or public with the family for a while), Kendall and Kylie in favour of her older daughters. (Although with Kendall’s earning power as a supermodel and whatever it is that Kylie now does, Kris may have an increased interest in her younger offspring.)

But is Kris Jenner a bad mother because of this?

One could argue that she spent her early days of motherhood raising her six kids (not to mention step-parenting Bruce’s four other children from previous marriages), and is rewarded by earning 10% from their business endeavours as their momager.

But some of the things Kris says and does arguably aren’t in the best interests of the well being of her children. Or is that just how they/she choose/s to portray her/self on Keeping Up With The Kardashians?

In the first season of Khloe & Lamar, Kris berates Khloe for her size, saying it’s not cohesive with her other sisters’ frames, nor with QuickTrim, the diet supplement the Kardashian sisters promoted at the time. In other episodes of the KUWTK franchise, Kris was on Khloe’s back to have a baby during her marriage to Lamar.

Kris also doesn’t approve of Kourtney’s boyfriend and baby daddy Scott Disick, and in earlier seasons of the show, who could blame her? But even after Scott made a 180° turnaround in his behaviour after his children were born, Kris still struggles to accept him.

Kim, the head moneymaker of the Kardashian clan, can usually never put a foot wrong in her mother’s eyes, but every now and then Kris will get upset with her for being so uptight. So do her sisters, for that matter.

In a damning article published by The New York Times a couple of weeks ago, the dichotomy of Kris as mother and businesswoman is dissected:

“… in The New York Times review of the show’s first episode, Ginia Bellafante wrote: ‘As a parent, Ms. Kardashian’s mother, Kris Jenner, was concerned for her daughter, she explains. But as her manager, she thought, well, hot-diggity.’”

The article goes on to assert that the lack of public comment from the Kardashians/Jenners regarding Bruce’s transition isn’t about being respectful to the family patriarch’s privacy, but to milk Bruce’s coming out for all the world to see… on their E! special, of course.

I’d like to think I’m less cynical about Kris and her cohort of children’s success, but we also know that reality TV is far less rooted in actuality than it purports itself to be. Kris says:

“‘It doesn’t mean that we’re always looking for more or that we’re greedy… There’s a lot of people that have great ideas and dreams and whatnot, but unless you’re willing to work really, really hard, and work for what you want, it’s never going to happen. And that’s what’s so great about the girls. It’s all about their work ethic.’”

When their lives are out there for all the world to see, it’s easy to judge the Kardashians. If Kris is guilty of one thing, it’s working her children too hard and not allowing them to make mistakes. Kim’s sexual escapades were caught on film in a way that might mortify many people, but she and her mother took them to new famous-for-being-famous heights. Kendall and Kylie have had cameras in their faces since they were 12 and 10, respectively, and have been working on book, clothing and beauty lines for almost as long, so it’s no wonder Kylie behaves older than her 17 years. The controversy surrounding her lips and relationship with an older man who also happens to be a father are begrudgingly touched on this season, scarcely shedding light on the family dynamic that would allow and encourage a 17-year-old to do these things. It remains to be seen if such actions mean Kylie’s heading off the rails, but other young stars could stand to have such a strong work ethic instilled in them.

Say what you want about Kris and the Kardashians, but they’ve managed to carve out an entire genre of entertainment that Paris, Nicole and the Osbournes could only have dreamt about. Their money shouldn’t protect them from criticism, but I do think the Kardashians cop a lot more flak for capitalising on their existence in a world that we watched them influence than other, arguably worse, public figures. The Kardashians seem to be relatively happy, healthy and challenge the notion that your past defines you. Whatever the case, Kris and company are laughing all the way to the bank while we labour over thinkpieces about them.

Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based writer, broadcaster and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she muses about feminism, social issues and pop culture. You can follow her on Twitter here.

Body Image on ‘Total Divas’

As you can see from the image above, there’s nothing wrong with the way either of the women in the sketches look. And as reality shows are wont to do, everything is tied up in a nice little bow by episode’s end, with Eva realizing she has issues that she needs to work on. “I’m a normal girl who has her own insecurities,” she says.

This is a guest post by Scarlett Harris.

Sunday night’s episode of Total Divas centered around Eva Marie’s recovery from breast augmentation after her previous implants started leaking, her subsequent Muscle & Fitness Hers magazine shoot, and her body image issues.

The irony here is that Muscle & Fitness Hers is a magazine that I assume is promoting the “strong not skinny” ideal that permeates the health and fitness industry. As we saw on Sunday, Eva Marie’s mindset is anything but. After her surgery, she’d been unable to exercise so when she found out the magazine wanted her to shoot for them, the pressure was on to get back into shape. Throughout the show, Eva has made stray comments about her body, saying she’s too fat or looks ugly, and in this episode, she sees her visage on the side of a WWE trailer and says the same. This all comes to a head when Eva and Ariane are shopping and Eva nearly collapses in the change room because she hasn’t eaten for a day.

Ariane is concerned for her friend and worried about the message Eva’s poor body image is sending to their fans. “We’re WWE Divas. That means we’re empowering women who are role models and WWE wouldn’t even think about putting her on, like, three trailers if she wasn’t TheBomb.com [one of Ariane’s myriad catchphrases],” she says.

Putting aside Ariane’s correlation between being hot = being empowered, she takes Eva to a sketch artist similar to the one used by Dove in their infamous viral campaign featuring women describing how ugly they are vs. how beautiful strangers think they are. Because all that matters is how other people think you look, right?

The sketch artist’s assistant’s description of Eva results in a more accurate drawing whereas the way she describes herself produces a sketch of a more “normal”-looking woman. As you can see from the image above, there’s nothing wrong with the way either of the women in the sketches look. And as reality shows are wont to do, everything is tied up in a nice little bow by episode’s end, with Eva realizing she has issues that she needs to work on. “I’m a normal girl who has her own insecurities,” she says.

The thing is, the Divas aren’t normal women. Like models, they work in an industry that trades primarily on how they look. Sure, they need their bodies to be strong but if they don’t look good while taking a bulldog or delivering a dropkick, fuhgedaboutit.

And as Nattie says on the episode, “It’s part of our job to look great and feel great.”

Total Divas’ other main storyline this week was that of Rosa’s infatuation with Paige, resulting in an awkward kiss. We’ve seen Rosa struggle with her own insecurities throughout the season and she continuously says she just wants the other Divas to like her. Rosa is recovering from a bad breakup, a stint in rehab for alcoholism and, upon her return to the WWE and her Total Divas debut, she underwent breast augmentation herself. On Sunday night she also revealed that she uses injectables such as Botox in her face.

I don’t want to perpetuate the harmful stereotype that those with body image issues turn to surgery, or that surgery perpetuates those issues, because there are plenty of people who love and hate themselves and their bodies who have and haven’t turned to surgery as a remedy. But it is telling that both Eva and Rosa struggle with their self worth and the way they look, have both had substance abuse problems and have both had cosmetic surgery.

On the other hand, many of the Total Divas (and WWE Divas who aren’t involved with the show) have also had surgery but seem to have pretty healthy self-esteem. (Or, more accurately, any body image woes they do have aren’t aired on E! to further the show’s storylines.) To reiterate Nattie’s sentiment, there’s a certain ideal Divas have to subscribe to. I also work sporadically in television, so I can relate. However I don’t think the correlation the Total Divas make between being role models and looking hot is the healthiest mindset to have. Eva touches on this somewhat in the trademark reality TV voiceover:

“I think it’s the pressure of being a role model and having so much on your shoulders. I think there’s a massive amount of pressure on any woman. All of us are striving for some type of perfection.”

Until being a Total Diva—nay, a women’s wrestler—is more about what they can do in the ring that what they look like, that perfection is going to remain outward rather than turning inward.

Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based freelance writer and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she writes about femin- and other -isms. You can follow her on Twitter.

The Choice to Be a Total Diva

So while Nikki is a successful wrestler (she’s the current Divas Champion in real time), actress (she’s been in outwardly scripted productions as well as “scripted reality” TV), real estate agent and businesswoman in general, she apparently can’t be trusted to make choices that are best for her personal life at the age of 31.

This is a guest post by Scarlett Harris.

For those unfamiliar with the E! reality show Total Divas, it follows the lives of eight female professional wrestlers—or Divas as they are better known—under the employ of World Wrestling Entertainment as they navigate through their personal lives, work, travel and health.

The first season delved into the machinations of the daily lives of twins Nikki and Brie Bella, veteran and wrestling family royalty Nattie, tag team partners Trinity and Ariane, and rookies Eva Marie and JoJo. By season end JoJo had decided to leave the show (but still ring announces on the WWE Network’s developmental program, NXT) for reasons that are unclear, but her absence was felt long before.

Bad girl Summer Rae replaced her in season two, also taking the title of the show’s villainess from Eva Marie who became perceived by the other Divas as one of them. And by season three, Rosa Mendes had joined the ranks, fresh from a bad breakup, cosmetic surgery and a stay in rehab for alcoholism.

Last Sunday marked the mid-season return of Total Divas and with it the departure of Summer Rae and Trinity, who was barely getting airtime before it was announced last year that newbie Diva Paige and Alicia Fox would be coming on board. Again, just because these Divas aren’t on Total Divas doesn’t mean they’re not continuing on with the WWE: Trinity (known in WWE as Naomi) is in a storyline with her husband, Jimmy Uso, while Summer Rae is now hosting the Total Divas aftershow on WWE.com.

Plenty of Divas make their mark on WWE programming without being involved in the reality show. For example, Paige won the Divas Championship on her very first day on the “main roster,” which was long before she signed on to the show, and the Slammy award (kind of like a Grammy but for wrestling) for Diva of the Year 2014 went to AJ Lee, the longest reigning Divas champion who, to the best of my knowledge, has never appeared in even a backstage shot on Total Divas.

It’s great that Total Divas is promoting women as athletes in a male dominated sport (or sports entertainment, rather), a portrayal that is rarely seen on reality television, but the women on the show are hardly the be all and end all of women in wrestling.

A.J. Lee has said that she “could” be on Total Divas, “but I wouldn’t do it. I’m just happy being who I am on TV two days a week and on live events and then going into my private life, and into my little hole in the middle of nowhere and having no one talk to me about my private life.”

The choice to be a Total Diva is vastly different from being a regular Diva.

The mid-season return of Total Divas saw the fallout between Nikki Bella and her partner, WWE Superstar John Cena, and their trial separation, the wheels of which were put in motion by her sister Brie and the rest of her family at the October finale.

Here’s the gist of the drama: before meeting John, Nikki was sure she was going to be a wife and mother. John’s been married before and doesn’t want to go down that road again. He also doesn’t want children. Nikki sacrificed her dreams to be with the man of them and she seemed happy (as happy as can be gleaned from a reality show, anyway) which her family can’t understand. Brie and the rest of Nikki’s family butted in and sat John down with an ultimatum: if he’s not going to give their sister what they believe she wants, let her go.

And so he did.

The thing that bugged me about this storyline—sorry, development in Nikki’s life—is that Nikki is a grown woman: if she decides to be with a man who won’t give her marriage and children, then that’s her choice. No one else is in the position to decide what makes her happy now, and what she’ll regret later. I get the same crap when I tell people I don’t want kids: but what if you regret it later? So what? That’s my regret to have.

Nikki pretty much echoed these sentiments when she found out that John “letting her go” was actually the doing of her family.

“You told my boyfriend what I want without me being there? You had no right to tell anyone how I feel. Who the hell do you think you are to make my decisions for me?”

Speaking of marriage and kids, fellow Total Diva Eva Marie is facing the repercussions of having lied to her husband about wanting children. Eva has been plagued by reproductive health issues which saw her coming to terms with the possibility of not being able to conceive. In the second episode of the mid-season return, Eva is told that a medical procedure could cure her infertility but she’s scared of pregnancy and is okay with it just being her and her husband Jonathan for the rest of their lives. Jonathan has always been clear about his intention to have a lot of children, so he’s pissed that Eva hid this potentially life-changing choice from him. As the episode draws to a close the couples’ dilemma is tied up in a nice little bow as reality show storylines are wont to do: Jonathan tells Eva that when she eventually decides to have children she’ll make the best mother, and they agree not to discuss children again for the time being while they focus on their careers. Because all women want to be mothers eventually: they just don’t know it yet. And all women who are apprehensive about motherhood will love their children and make great moms once they inevitably make that choice.

Despite his insistence that Eva will one day want children, Jonathan brings up a good point: in not telling him that she didn’t want kids before they got married, Eva took away his choice not to marry her because of this. He says would have married her regardless because he’s madly in love with her, but he would have liked to have had that choice. Presumably Eva would also like the choice whether or not to have kids.

So whether it’s having the independence from your family and your partner to make the choices that are best for you or being confident enough in your athletic abilities to opt out of a reality show many of your peers are involved in a the potential detriment to your career, being a Total Diva—and, indeed, a regular Diva—is all about choice. Isn’t that why women, be they wrestlers or no, are called divas in the first place?

Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based freelance writer and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she writes about femin- and other -isms. You can follow her on Twitter.

Reality TV: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts for our The Reality TV Theme Week here.

What Would You Do to be Famous?: Looking at Black Mirror and Starry Eyes by Elizabeth Kiy

I’ll just say it, reality TV scares me. It has so much potential to affect the way we live and look at ourselves by showing us how other people live. It can chip away at our idea of strong womanhood by highlighting the successes only of the beautiful, compliant and willing to backstab.

Keeping up with the Kardashians: Looking at Kim Kardashian’s Naked Body by Sarah Smyth

Kardashian quite literally embodies the complex construction of the female body as something to be looked at. And with her body being so readily, excessively, and continually put on show, can we help but do anything but look?

MasterChef and Internalized Misogyny by Robin Hitchcock

Reality TV’s Antecedents: PBS, POV, and Barbara Kopple by Ren Jender

A channel that has been delivering a less tempered version of “reality” TV for many decades is PBS, most consistently and interestingly for over 25 years on POV, which showcases independent documentaries with limited theatrical runs (and many of those films are available online to watch as well). In its history POV has put its spotlight on trans* and queer people, people of color, and people with disabilities often in work directed by people who are from those communities (which is not usually the case in other “reality” programming).

Finding Faith and Feminism in The Sisterhood: Becoming Nuns by Max Thornton

Nuns are often unsung activists, and convents are underexamined as feminist spaces. In medieval Christendom, entering a convent might be the only way for a woman to have control over her body, her choices, and her reproduction; and, as reproductive rights come under increasingly virulent attack in the US, it could be interesting to consider how a convent might still be that space today.

Playing with Fire: “Compulsory Heterosexuality” in The Hunger Games by Colleen Clemons

While my conversations with my friends’ 12-year-old daughters about the trilogy always began with “Team Peeta!” or “Team Gale!” our conversations in the classroom focused on the scholarship of female collectives and violent resistance; we didn’t need Gale and Peeta as fodder for conversation. But on the last day of class, I introduced Adrienne Rich’s idea of compulsory heterosexuality to complicate the larger conversation in which readers—and viewers—find themselves forced to choose a camp, just as Katniss is forced to do.

What Would You Do to be Famous?: Looking at ‘Black Mirror’ and ‘Starry Eyes’

Written by Elizabeth Kiy as part of our theme week on Reality TV.

I’ll just say it: reality TV scares me. It has so much potential to affect the way we live and look at ourselves by showing us how other people live. It can chip away at our idea of strong womanhood by highlighting the successes only of the beautiful, compliant and willing to backstab. We all know the “reality” shown is rarely real, but highly edited: lines are slipped into different contexts and complex people are ironed out into characters to love or hate with no in between.

For me, the idea of what reality TV can do is rife with potential for perfect horror stories. Here are some interesting ones.

Starry Eyes
The recent horror movie, Starry Eyes, focuses on Sarah (Alex Essoe), a wanna-be-actress stuck working at a humiliating Hooters-style restaurant while she runs between auditions. It’s a typical Hollywood story, but Sarah’s difference is clear in her desire for fame and adoration rather than a love of her craft. She’s vain and spends large amounts of time gazing at herself in her bedroom mirror, framed by pictures of classic actresses renowned for their beauty and presence. She has a clear idea of who she wants to be and what she deserves. She is sure little-seen indie films and working a day job are both beneath her.

The film is set up deceptively. At first, Sarah is the figurative, yet all too familiar monster, as she’s a young woman willing to do anything for success. She’s an ideal reality star — desperate, pretty and as the saying goes, “not here to make friends.” What’s more, she has frequent fits of self-hatred when she does a poor job at an audition, where she beats herself, screams like an animal and rips out her own hair. These fits initially fascinate the producers in Sarah’s auditions. They hate her by-the-book performance of the script. But like casting agents for a reality show, they are drawn to her as the character of herself, as participants are frequently cast in reality TV based on how much drama they will create or their interesting personal stories.

Sarah tries to decide whether to sleep with a producer for the film role

We believe the question of how far Sarah will go for success is limited to whether or not she will participate in casting couch activities, when an older producer tells her he will give her the part if she performs oral sex on him. She struggles with the decision before eventually agreeing.

But the film is not even really about this decision. It is slowly revealed that the producers are part of an Illuminati-like group that want to use her for some kind of ritual. As she agrees to follow their demands, her body physically deteriorates and she slowly transforms into a grotesque creature, losing her hair and vomiting up bugs. She also becomes increasingly isolated and cut off from her friends, until she begins to murder them.

Elite Hollywood figures use Sarah as a ritual sacrifice

And all through it, an elite group of devil worshipers are pulling the strings and watching Sarah from the shadows as if she is their entertainment. She is their spectacle, becoming a ravenous mutated creature, one who can achieve fame and stand among the idols that frame her mirror.

Black Mirror:
Black Mirror is a British TV series that is a sort of modern day update to The Twilight Zone that focuses on our use of technology. Drawing on the idea of our dependence on our screens (TV, phones, and computers) as a dark mirror reflecting our lives, it delivers engrossing anthology tales, taking on large-scale government crises and conspiracies as well as small scale domestic dramas and love stories.

Naturally, several episodes were reality TV adjacent, particularly “15 Million Merits” in the first season, and “White Bear” in the second.

Bing falls for Abi’s voice and tries to help her become a star

“15 Million Merits” is set in a dystopic future where people are forced to spend everyday riding exercise bikes and playing video games to earn credits to buy the things they need to live. Each person is confined either to their room or to the exercise room where they work and is discouraged from interacting with other people outside of their video game avatars. Unless, they have enough credits to skip them, they have to spend even their free time watching advertisements and watching mandated programs. The only road to live a better life is to win an American Idol-like singing competition called Hot Shot. Unfortunately it costs the titular 15 million merits to even enter.

Bing (Daniel Klaus) is a young man who hates this world enough to complain but not enough to do something about it. He lives a quiet, unassuming life, riding his bike and hoarding his credits, until he meets Abi (Jessica Brown Findlay) and immediately falls in love with her and her singing voice. Bing believes in her talent and buys her an entry on Hot Shot, sure that she will win and get to be happy, even if it is far away from him.

Abi performs for the judges on Hot Shots — Abi performs for the judges on *Hot Shot*

Instead, Abi is drugged with a drink called “compliance” and taunted by the aggressive judges and viewers into agreeing to become a porn star. Quickly, Bing becomes disturbingly possessive of Abi and is ashamed of her for taking the offer. He is repulsed and to make it worse, is forced to watch clips of Abi’s performances over and over again.

Through their avatars, viewers voice their approval and disapproval for Abi’s performance and their commands of what they’d like Abi to do. In their frenzies, they display a mob mentality, voicing violent and disturbing fantasies and dehumanizing her.

As an image from a Hot Shot commercial suggests, the events of the episode force Abi and Bing to answer the question, “How low would you go for fame and fortune.” It’s a common question we hear on reality TV.

In the episode “White Bear,” a woman named Toni (Lenora Crichlow) wakes up alone in a house with no memory of what has happened to her. When she approaches any of the people outside, they just ignore her and try to take pictures of her and record her on their phones. Soon, people wearing masks appear and begin chase her through town, trying to kill her.

Instead of helping, the people Toni meets just take her picture

The end twist is probably as Twilight Zone-esque as the show ever gets. Toni is a child murderer and this is a “Justice Park” created to punish her.

The episode brings up similar ideas about the mob mentality in reality TV as “15 Million Merits,” as well as our fascination with violence and humiliation. “White Bear” asks us to think about our bloodlust and the enjoyment we derive from seeing people scared or in pain on reality TV.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

‘MasterChef’ and Internalized Misogyny

Examining my sexist reaction to this season of ‘MasterChef’ made me realize the pervasive role of gender expectations in the series. ‘MasterChef’ distinguishes itself from other cooking reality competition shows by focusing on “home cooks” without any formal training.

This repost by Robin Hitchcock appears as part of our theme week on Reality TV.

Being a feminist can be hard, like when it interferes with my god-given right to irrationally hate reality TV contestants. The “love-to-hate” feeling is basically the entire point of watching reality television. There is no room for guilty consciences. And yet, this past season of MasterChef USA forced me and my partner to wrestle with why we were hating on our least favorite contestants, because the obvious answer was that we’re sexist jerks.

Contestants from Season 5 of 'MasterChef USA' make shocked faces. — Contestants from Season 5 of *MasterChef USA* make shocked faces.

Examining my sexist reaction to this season of MasterChef made me realize the pervasive role of gender expectations in the series. MasterChef distinguishes itself from other cooking reality competition shows by focusing on “home cooks” without any formal training. Between traditional gendered work divisions regarding who cooks at home (somehow persisting even in the era of the “foodie”), and the rampant sexism of the professional culinary industry, the line between “home cooks” and “chefs” is undeniably gendered.

But the MasterChef producers have done their best to obscure this dynamic: there are a roughly equal number of male and female contestants at the start of each series; and over five seasons, the collective male/female breakdown between the top ten, top five, and top three contestants stays close to 50-50 (26-24 women-to-men in the top ten, 12-13 in the top five, and 8-7 in the top three). This steady equality might be the result of some producer meddling, but MasterChef contestants are never explicitly separated into gender ranks (whereas on the long-running Hell’s Kitchen, also hosted by Gordon Ramsay, has a “boys team” and “girls team” for the bulk of each season, but not necessarily a steady rate of loss from each side as one team is generally made safe from elimination in each episode).

'MasterChef' season 5's top three (from left): Courtney, Leslie, and Elizabeth — *MasterChef* season 5’s top three (from left): Courtney, Leslie, and Elizabeth

This hasn’t stopped the MasterChef contestants from breaking into gendered ranks. A recurring theme is for male contestants to look down on creating desserts and baking as lesser talents, and to dismiss their female competitors’ successes in those challenges. The quintessential example is the first-season elimination of would-be front-runner Sharone, a cocksure Finance Dude, by Whitney, the Personification of Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, in a challenge to bake a chocolate souffle. Sharone’s attempts to “elevate the dish” (the second most liver-damaging item on the MasterChef drinking game, after Gordon Ramsay using “most amazing” to describe an ingredient) with sea salt backfired, and Whitney’s straightforward but perfectly executed souffle carried her forward to become the first US MasterChef winner. In his exit interview, Sharone expressed lament that “the pastry princess” had the chance to knock him from the competition in a baking challenge.

Season 1's "Pastry Princess" Whitney — Season 1’s “Pastry Princess” Whitney

The High Cuisine Pretenders of MasterChef, who scoff at “rustic” challenges to make comfort food and awkwardly attempt molecular gastronomy, have been nearly exclusively male contestants. They are not there to be crowned “the best home cook in America,” they are there to be discovered as culinary geniuses. These guys usually flame out before the top 10. But notably, even the more grounded male competitors usually say they will use their winnings to open a restaurant, while the women in the competition often focus on the opportunity of the winner’s published cookbook, and see the $250,000 prize as a financial break rather than a seed investment.

The “this will change my life” reality TV cliche applies neatly to the MasterChef Season 5 HitchDied Hateoff. My most-hated contestant, season-winner Courtney, leaned on this trope with all her weight. My husband’s most-hated contestant, Leslie (second-runner up), was notably privileged and “didn’t need” the winnings.

Man-who-looks-naked-without-a-yacht-under-him Leslie — Leslie, no doubt dreaming of his yacht

But this is not just a matter of haves and have-nots, because of what Courtney and Leslie each do for a living. Leslie is a stay-at-home father with a very successful wife. Or, as fellow contestant Cutter put it, “an ex-beautician house bitch.”

Courtney, per her talking head caption, is an aerial dancer. But in her own words, she frames her work as the desperate choice of a woman struggling to make ends meet: “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. No being able to pay my rent, I made the difficult, embarrassing decision to work in a gentleman’s club.”

Courtney shown with her job title, "aerial dancer" — Courtney shown with her job title, aerial dancer

And so the HitchDied Hate-off for MasterChef Season 5 became mired in dueling accusations of antifeminism. Collin would insist it is not that Leslie is a metrosexual stay-at-home dad that makes him unlikable, but that he’s haughty phony. I would insist that I don’t judge Courtney for her job, just her attitude about it. (Neither of us could get away with saying we hate them for being untalented chefs or cruel competitors, they both clearly deserved their success on the show.)

Runner-up Elizabeth says "if Courtney wins this... I will stab kittens" — Runner-up Elizabeth says, “If Courtney wins this… I’m going to stab kittens”

But I also made fun of Courtney for her aggressively performed femininity (her kitchen uniform is poufy dresses and towering heels) and breathy baby voice, and I can’t deny the sexism in finding these “girly” traits annoying. Especially because I’m a big fan of poufy dresses myself, and might wear towering heels if I weren’t so clumsy. (I thought maybe the heels were to “keep in shape for work,” but aerial dancers perform barefoot, right?) MasterChef‘s narrative didn’t let me feel alone in my hate: other female contestants (including runner-up Elizabeth) complained in their talking heads that Courtney benefited from favoritism from the judges, something we never heard when former Miss Delaware Jennifer came out on top of season 2. So why is Courtney so specially hate-able? Do we hate her because she’s beautiful? Do we hate her because she does sex work? Do we hate her because she’s a girly girl? Is there some other answer here that doesn’t make me a bad feminist for hating Courtney?

Gif of camera zooming in on Courtney's glittering high heels — Gif of camera zooming in on Courtney’s glittering high heels

And is my internalized misogyny to blame, or the MasterChef producers for exploiting it? I couldn’t tell you what any of the other contestants in four seasons of MasterChef wore on their feet, because they didn’t cut ShoeCam every time they walked their dish to the judges. Judge Joe Bastianich bizarrely wears running shoes with his super fancy suits, and I think that took me three seasons to notice. But we saw more of Courtney’s shoes than we saw of some contestant’s faces. It seemed like a sneaky way for the producers to remind us “Courtney is a stripper!” in between her self-shaming confessions, because reality TV producers would see a woman being “saved” from sex work the greatest possible form of the “this will change my life” narrative.

So it goes. Courtney gets her trophy and cookbook, the producers get their “provocative” storyline, Leslie probably has enough money to do whatever he wants anyway, and the HitchDieds will continue irrationally hating reality show contestants despite our feminist misgivings.

Have you ever hated-to-hate a reality TV contestant? Have you caught yourself hating people on TV for sexist reasons?

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town and slightly-better-than-mediocre home cook.

Call For Writers: Reality TV

However, the truth and realness of reality TV is, and always has been, a myth. A basic concept of psychology is that the act of observing a thing changes that thing. How could a camera crew with all their equipment following people around not affect what those people do and say? How could knowing that millions will be watching and listening not affect their actions?

Our theme week for December 2014 will be Reality TV.

Though films like The Running Man explored the concept of reality television before the genre actually took off, most US audiences identify the 1992 MTV show The Real World as the defining reality show that popularized the genre. Audiences were hungry for representations of real people, unscripted, unproduced, and raw. The idea of watching these real people go about their real lives, experiencing real emotions in real situations was, and continues to be, fascinating to audiences.

However, the truth and realness of reality TV is, and always has been, a myth. A basic concept of psychology is that the act of observing a thing changes that thing. How could a camera crew with all their equipment following people around not affect what those people do and say? How could knowing that millions will be watching and listening not affect their actions? Not only that, but most reality shows often create a non-real (often absurd) premise, such as making strangers live together or having them compete for love or money in increasingly elaborate ways. As time goes by, audiences expect less and less of the realism supposedly inherent in reality TV, much the same as professional wrestling fans accept the performance component of their sport. All the while, many reality series continue for over a decade, a constant, reliable source of income for show producers.

There are many films that question or parody the notion of reality TV. Both The Running Man and The Hunger Games series critique the bloodthirsty, drama-hungry gladiatorial reality TV physical challenge sub-genre that we see in shows like Survivor or Naked and Afraid. The show Burning Love satirizes the absurdity of shows like The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, which require group competition for a single mate. The Truman Show calls into question reality itself, exploring the idea that unbeknownst to the subject, their life could be a scripted, carefully executed reality show.

Some questions to consider for your submission: Is there value to reality TV? What kind of gender roles are advocated? What kind of notions on race, sexuality, and class are advanced? Who is represented as the subject? Who lacks adequate representation as a subject? What does the progression of the genre look like, i.e. will we be televising executions in the future or will everyone have a camera to film and share their own reality? Why has reality TV sustained such a long history of success and audience engagement? Is it possible for reality TV to be more realistic?

Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, Dec. 19 by midnight.

The Real World

The Bachelor

American Ninja

The Bachelorette

Millionaire Matchmaker

The Osbournes

Top Chef

Rock of Love

Jersey Shore

Flavor of Love

Intervention

Drunk Histories

Survivor

Naked and Afraid

Wife Swap

The Apprentice

The Truman Show

Running Man

Ru Paul’s Drag Race

The Nanny

Gamer

Keeping Up with the Kardashians

The Hunger Games

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Duck Dynasty

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part I

Burning Love

‘MasterChef’ and Internalized Misogyny

Being a feminist can be hard, like when it interferes with my god-given right to irrationally hate reality TV contestants. The “love-to-hate” feeling is basically the entire point of watching reality television. There is no room for guilty consciences. And yet, this past season of ‘MasterChef USA’ forced me and my partner to wrestle with why we were hating on our least favorite contestants, because the obvious answer was that we’re sexist jerks.

Have you ever hated-to-hate a reality TV contestant? Have you caught yourself hating people on TV for sexist reasons?

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town and slightly-better-than-mediocre home cook.

A Deep Look at Shallowness: Resurrecting ‘The Comeback’s Valerie Cherish

Through its one and only season, the fake reality show chronicled the life of Valerie Cherish, played by my favorite Friend, Lisa Kudrow, an 80’s has-been trying to make a comeback through her role on an insipid sitcom. Valerie was a perfect reality star, yelling at the cameras, fighting with her co-workers and suffering one dignity after another, to the point where watching the show can be painful at times.

The Comeback is a deeply thought-out, complicated show about shallow television.

But as a scripted series, The Comeback never really caught on. Created by Sex and the City’s Michael Patrick King, the cringe comedy only ran for 13 episodes on HBO before cancellation. It has since enjoyed a second life through DVDs and streaming, acquiring a reputation as a cult program. In May, HBO announced The Comeback’s revival for a six-episode limited series set to air this fall.

It’s easy to figure out why the show was unpopular in its original run, as it’s unlike anything else on TV. Valerie is often unlikeable, out-of-touch and incredibly vain, traits not often found in female lead characters. Though there have been female characters like Valerie, they have generally been only supporting figures providing comic relief. Also unusual are the show’s dark tone and raw footage format, which allows Valerie to run through multiple takes of different actions which are supposed to be spontaneous reality, call for time-outs when something is said that she doesn’t want to air and repeatedly tell filmmakers to stop filming (though they never do). It’s important to note however, that similar shows with male leads like Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Office have been very popular.

The character of Valerie Cherish is well-observed and very specific. She is a Hollywood wife married to a successful executive, carting around her Birkin bag and her loyal closeted hairdresser, Mickey. She’s also incredibly fake, adopting an glamorous, affected attitude, a trendy passion for yoga and eastern spirituality, and a love of dogs and distancing herself from embarrassing friends, to put herself in the best possible light for the cameras.

Valerie’s character is referred to as “sad, pathetic Aunt Sassy”

Early on, Room and Bored, the sitcom Valerie is cast in, originally a show about four single women in their 30s and 40s, is retooled to be sexier and hipper. The leads are given to a former Disney star and a pop star taking on her first acting role, male “hunks” are added, and the sitcom instead focuses on sexy 20-somethings in bikinis sleeping with each other. There is barely space for Valerie, who is cast as Aunt Sassy, an uptight, frumpy woman who wears only pastel jogging suits and usually appears in only one scene of each episode. Still Valerie is unable to accept that she is not the star. While her former TV show, I’m It, is generally forgotten and she hasn’t worked it years, she refuses to admit that she even needs a comeback.

Throughout the series, Valerie often frustrates her co-workers by trying to control the production and writing of Room and Bored and get a larger role for herself. For example, in cast photo session, where she is asked to stand far in the background, she continuously moves forward to stand with the young cast. In another scene, she angers the writers by protesting a joke she feels would make viewers dislike her character and wins the studio audience’s approval by getting them to chant for her to get another take. She is reminded several times to view The Comeback as her show and her main shot and to allow the 20-somethings to have Room and Bored, but she never listens.

Valerie gives her opinions on what is happening in to-the-camera confessionals, a staple of reality TV

Though Valerie is generally well-meaning, she seems genuinely oblivious to the people she uses and takes for granted in her struggle back to the top. She uses a writer named Gigi to get better story lines, even when it complicates Gigi’s job, tries to convince a young gay fan to come out for the sole purpose of using his gushing praise of her on the show, and dismisses Mickey when it suits her. However, this behavior never comes from a place of outright meanness, but instead a lack of empathy.

But what The Comeback gets so right, is its display of Valerie’s humanity. While she’s not always likable, she is always understandable. In Valerie’s nervous, brittle laugh, her frequent clearing of her throat when uncomfortable and her obsession with appearing perfect, a deeply self conscious, even desperate woman emerges. Kudrow’s performance is as much in what she doesn’t say as what she does, and the pain behind her eyes when she experiences a setback and tries to brush it off makes her deeply sympathetic. Valerie absorbs a lot of ridicule and humiliation in 13 episodes, much more than most people could take. Yet she continues to grow and adjust rather than shut down. Rather than lash out at her cruel co-workers and risk her job she smiles and pretends to enjoy being the butt of jokes.

Valerie is also desperate to be liked and is constantly giving gifts and trying to take coworkers out to lunch. She plays out elaborate rituals, jokes and skits to get people to like her and yearns for the approval of her young costars. As her life continues to fall apart, Valerie keeps smiling. When Room and Bored gets bad ratings, she gives a speech to the cat about keeping up hope and trying harder. She’s the closest thing there is to a female Michael Scott: clueless and insensitive but ultimately redeemed through her genuine well-meaning.

Though viewers come to assume things are going to go wrong for her, nine times out of 10 she’s created the trouble for herself. It’s surprising when one of her seemingly delusional ideas works out, such as when she gets Tom Selleck to agree to play Aunt Sassy’s boyfriend. Often watching The Comeback is like watching a horror movie, which forces you to scream at the characters onscreen to stop and think about what they’re doing. While viewers are allied with Valerie and want her to succeed, we understand why she fails and agree with the realism of what happens. In reality, without an all access pass to Valerie’s insecurities and the moments where her persona falters, she would be very difficult to root for.

Reality TV is portrayed as intrusive and unglamorous, as cameras invade Valerie’s private moments

The Comeback has no great love for reality TV. Throughout the series, Valerie is followed around by her reality crew, who are always hoping something awful will happen in Valerie’s real life that will boost ratings. The crew creates chaos following her and require multiple conversations to plan logistics and their presence causes the cast and writers of Room and Bored to resent Valerie. In the final episode, when the reality show is pieced together, it is revealed that much of what Valerie and the people around her have said and done was manipulated in editing and used to created cheap laughs at her expense. Paulie G. (Lance Barber), a writer on Room and Bored who is relentlessly cruel to Valerie is portrayed as a consummate professional who Valerie abuses unprovoked.

Though Valerie tries to maintain control over the reality show and of how she is portrayed, she misunderstands what the show is and what viewers want. She decides the director, Jane (Laura Silverman) is her friend and tries to be close to her, getting her a gift bag at the awards show and inviting her to her premiere party. Valerie feels that a friendship with Jane will allow her to be portrayed in a positive way and feels betrayed as a friend and disrespected as the celebrity she feels she is, when she sees how Jane edited the footage. It takes her a long time to respect Jane’s judgement and understand what Jane always knew: that conflict is what makes a good reality show.

Another interesting facet of The Comeback is its portrayal of an adult workplace as full of immaturity and pettiness. In the same way Leslie Knope’s idealism is tested by the baffling ignorance of Pawnee’s city council, Valerie grapples with Paulie G., a fratboy misogynist who sees no value in women beyond sexual objectification. At every turn, Paulie G. tries to thwart Valerie and make rude comments about her, though its clear that if she was 20 years younger, he’d tolerate anything she did. In addition, Paulie G. torments Gigi, the sole female writer, for being overweight.

In one memorable scene, Valerie comes to the studio late at night to bring cookies to the writers and finds them mocking her and portraying her in crude sexual playacting. While she expected Paulie G., who wears his contempt for her on her sleeve, to mock her, she is shocked to see that behind closed doors, the other writers, including Tom Peterman who had appeared to like her, join in on the mockery and call her pathetic.

In an attempt to humiliate Valerie, the writers have Aunt Sassy dream of herself as a giant cupcake taunted for being fat

The show also explores Hollywood’s intolerance of aging women. Valerie is too young to play Aunt Sassy, an under developed character who appears to be written as a senior citizen. As an older woman, Valerie is shuffled off to the sidelines of the show and as Aunt Sassy, is exclusively given lines about how pathetic and sexually frustrated she is. When Aunt Sassy is given a spotlight episode about her romantic life, Valerie relishes the opportunity to flesh out the character and make her more than a punchline. But the episode is quickly cancelled and Valerie is told that writers and producers see giving Aunt Sassy a storyline as a step in the wrong direction.

Though Valerie still feels youthful and attractive, by Hollywood’s standards, she’s ancient. Valerie is married with a step-daughter and prefers staying home to going clubbing, she can’t keep up with the twenty-somethings on her show and along with her husband Mark, worries that she can’t do things like have adventurous sex or do coke anymore. Most of her young costars treat her with distanced politeness, like a visiting relative.

Still, the show allows Valerie to be attractive. In one episode, even Paulie G. drools over a sexy photo of her and briefly looks at her in a new light after seeing her. In another, Valerie wears a low-cut dress to an award show and is complimented for her body.

Valerie shows she is still attractive with her revealing awards show dress

It’s difficult for Valerie to watch everyone fawn over Juna (Malin Akerman), the star of Room and Bored. Juna is young, thin and her attractiveness is constantly discussed and stressed by the show’s direction. In one scene, Juna’s costume, a tiny bikini, is contrasted with Valerie’s dowdy jogging suit. When Juna changes in front of Valerie’s cameras and Valerie notices her young body, she enters a one sided competition with the young star. Valerie is determined to prove herself still relevant and attractive, as shown when, Juna lands the cover of Rolling Stone with a provocative pose and Valerie responds by bringing in topless poster from her own youth.

But Juna proves to be Valerie’s only consistent ally and she eventually decides to put aside her jealously and act as a mentor. Their relationship seems to grow into a genuine friendship, but continues to be frequently manipulative on Valerie’s part as she uses her allegiance with Juna to boost her own star and her place on the show. Her friendship with Juna also helps her to connect with her stepdaughter, Francesca a rebellious teenager who loves Juna and thinks Valerie is cool for knowing her.

Valerie is jealous of young star Juna Milken

The Comeback was a show ahead of its time, but maybe it’s time has finally come. Reality TV is more omnipresent than ever, and with no sign of slowing down.

There’s a retrospectively ironic moment in one of the early episodes, when Valerie sees a magazine cover that asks, “Is Reality TV Dying?” and becomes worried that her show will fail. But by the series’ final episode, it’s clear Valerie Cherish’s comeback will be a huge success, as it offers everything viewers expect from reality TV. I’m looking forward to the seeing how the series will tackle our current media and to catching up with a fascinating female character when it returns this fall.

________________________________________________________________

Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Sarah Polley’s ‘Stories We Tell’: A Radical Act

Movie poster for Stories We Tell

Written by Stephanie Rogers.

We live in an age now when things seem … less “real” to me. Facebook lets us put our private lives on display, and even then, it’s a version of our lives that we edit, exaggerate perhaps, and invent—all for public consumption. People become overnight stars when homemade YouTube clips go viral—often another version of an edited public performance. Our television shows, especially Reality TV—and even shows such as American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance—present stories that appear to be true but are, in fact, edited for a public audience.

So, how do we define “real” anymore or, for that matter, what is “true”?

Polley and her father in Stories We Tell

Sarah Polley explores this concept in her wonderful documentary, Stories We Tell. While the film focuses on her family background and a long-kept family secret of sorts, it ultimately explores memory—how it aids and fails us, and how the act of storytelling sometimes requires us to fill in the gaps. This isn’t a new concept by any means, but Polley’s decision to tell her story through film, and to put that story on screen for a wider audience—in a society (and film industry) that consistently devalues women’s work and women’s stories—is a radical act.

Mary Jo Murphy gives some background on the film in her New York Times review:

A bit more about “the story”: Ms. Polley is the youngest of five siblings. Dad was an English actor in Toronto; Mom, an actress, had two children from a marriage before she met him. She died of cancer when Sarah was 11, and at some point after that, one or more of her much older siblings began to tease her about her paternity. Eventually she did a little investigating.

When she found her answer, and talked to her father and siblings about it, she became fascinated with how each of them was “telling the story and embellishing the story and making the story their own.” The act of telling the story, she said, “was changing the story itself.”

Polley’s father in Stories We Tell

I love the idea of the past existing as fluid, ever-changing. And Stories We Tell touches on that, reminding us that people truly do live long after their deaths—in the memories and celebrations of those most important to them. I certainly don’t mean to sentimentalize the story because it’s not a sentimental film (which isn’t to say that the audience in the theater wasn’t a weeping mess), but I want to convey that a woman making an emotionally gripping film about herself, about her mother, about motherhood even—is absolutely a radical act. Some disagree. Mike LaSalle of the San Francisco Chronicle wrote the following in his review (titled, “Stories We Tell Review: Not Worth Telling”):

Polley is making a film about her father, her late mother, her siblings. She should protect them. What she shouldn’t do is offer up the resulting feel-good whitewash to the scrutiny of a watching world. She shouldn’t force on strangers the task of sitting through this. And she shouldn’t present a work of vanity and closed-in narcissism as an exercise in soul baring, because it’s embarrassing for everybody.

Polley’s mother and father in Stories We Tell

In actuality, the most important part of this film—and what makes it feminist—is precisely its “vanity” and “closed-in narcissism.” Of course, I wouldn’t use those words to describe it—I’d say “intimacy” and “closed-in confidence”—because they play into the dominant ideology that women’s stories aren’t important. And Stories We Tell is exactly that—Sarah Polley’s story: embellished, re-enacted, unsure, important. She interviews her father(s), her siblings, her mother’s former lovers, and her mother’s friends, all while keeping herself outside the frame and directing her subjects, or “storytellers” as she calls them, to tell their individual version of events. How Polley chooses to direct the film, to edit it, to interrogate the assertions of her storytellers, and to learn from them—that is her story. And telling it is a radical act.

Leigh Kolb wrote a piece for Bitch Flicks last November called, “Female Literacy as a Historical Framework for Hollywood Misogyny” in which she suggested that, “When women finally break through and are able to tell their stories, those stories are immediately dismissed as silly and trivial.” She goes on to say:

Perhaps this bleak, largely anti-feminist landscape in Hollywood is more deliberate. If we acknowledge women’s long history of being neglected education and literacy, and that women have been repeatedly told (or observed) that their stories lack action and intrigue for a broad audience, how can this not have larger social effects? And at some point, do we come to the conclusion that these messages are what the dominant group wants?

Polley’s mother in Stories We Tell

The good news is that reviews like the one written by Mick LaSalle, who refers to Stories We Tell at one point as “the opposite of a courageous piece of work,” look ridiculous next to all the praise for the film. In fact, if we’re lucky, maybe the success of Polley’s piece will spark a larger conversation about the marginalization of women and minorities in our culture, about whose stories “deserve” to be told and who gets to tell them. This film—if “the personal is political” still means anything in the age of my multiple fake Facebook identities—needs to be seen. It deserves to be seen. It’s a film about women knowing and not knowing one another. It’s a film about forgiveness and disappointment and searching for one’s identity and place within the family. It’s about existing as both participant and observer in one’s own life. It’s about longing and loss and how we define families. It’s about the art of filmmaking itself. It’s about mistakes and motherhood and heredity and unconditional love.

And, perhaps most importantly, it’s about a woman in Hollywood—an industry that boasts less than 20% of women film directors and an ever-shrinking number of available roles for women—refusing to accept the devaluation of women’s work, getting behind a camera … and daring to tell a story.

Sarah Polley, badass

Counterreading ‘Here Comes Honey Boo Boo’

Reality television has never held much appeal for me. I get plenty of reality in reality, thanks – I like my TV fictional. Besides, hasn’t the last decade or more of respectable journalism assured me, in the shrillest possible tones, that reality TV is the very lowest form of entertainment, positively reveling in the filth of humanity’s worst, most voyeuristic excesses: a Coliseum for the digital age?

SATIRE!!!1111!1

Even without watching it myself, I’ve become less and less comfortable with the traditional critiques of reality TV as I’ve sharpened my critical apparatus. For a start, it seems predicated on the notion of a hierarchy of art, the assumption that some forms of entertainment are somehow innately higher or better than others. It’s a terribly condescending form of knee-jerk moralizing.And if you don’t ever watch it, it’s a bit presumptuous to be judgmental about the whole genre.

I’ve tried to stay in the moral middle ground, having no real opinion on reality TV other than that it’s not for me. I’d likely have continued my reality-TV-free existence, had it not been for this excellent piece at the incomparable Womanist Musings.

Renee and Sparky watched TLC’s infamous Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, the reality show about six-year-old beauty pageant contestant Alana and her working-class Georgia family, and their reaction was not necessarily what you’d expect. They make many terrific points about how repugnant the show is as a piece of television, how it “other[s the family] at every turn,” but they also offer an invaluable counterreading. They like this family – the four daughters aged between six and seventeen, the quiet father figure, and heroic matriarch June – and they’ll continue to like them, no matter what the show’s structure seems to want us to think.

I love them all, but “Pumpkin” is my favorite.

If you consume entertainment and have any conscience at all, you are a practiced counterreader. You have to be, if you’re going to stand up to the hateful kyriarchal bullshit with which 21st-century westerners are bombarded every minute of the day. All responsible entertainment consumption requires a risk assessment, weighing the potential value to be gained against the potential harm to be done, and everybody’s evaluation is slightly different. For one person, well-rounded white female characters but no characters of color is worth the trade-off; for another, it simply isn’t. And sometimes performing an adequate counterreading requires you to marshal all your critical resources.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo is not a text that welcomes counterreadings with open arms. Operating well within the established format of reality television, it utilizes an arsenal of techniques – both subtle and not so much – to impel voyeurism. TLC makes it very, very easy to sneer at and judge Honey Boo Boo and her family. You have to work quite hard to counteract this compulsion. You really have to be on the critical ball the whole time. And is that okay?

All summer the debate has raged as to whether, or to what extent, the show is exploitative. Having watched all of it inside of a week, I’m still undecided. There are moments when June and the girls express a self-awareness and a confidence that has me cheering them to the skies, sure that their assertions of not caring what people think of them are sincere. At times, though – especially when outsiders arebrought in to interact with the family, an etiquette teacher or a pedicurist, and get all flustered and shocked by them – the whole thing seems enormously exploitative and gross.

It’s this indeterminacy, this openness to a multiplicity of different interpretations, that has the national conversation about Honey Boo Boo going so fiercely. As Time’s James Poniewozik observes:

…overall, she has a kind of sassy sweetness to her. In the second episode, she gets a pet teacup pig as consolation for losing a pageant and decides to dress him as a girl, which she says will make him gay. The ensuing argument with her older sister is both ridiculous and oddly wise in a 6-year-old way: “It’s not gonna be gay.” “Yes it is, because we’re making it a girl pig! And it’s actually a boy pig!” “O.K., but it’s not gonna be gay.” “It can if it wants to. You can’t tell that pig what to do.”

You can’t tell that pig what to do. See, you can look at that scene, like you can most of Honey Boo Boo, several ways. You can laugh at the intensity of Alana’s conviction that she’s right. You can tut-tut at the gender-role signals this pageant girl must be getting to conclude that you can “make” someone or something gay by dressing it in girl clothes. But you can also see something kind of remarkable in it: a little country girl, whatever confusion and misinformation she has in her mind, fervently arguing a teacup pig’s right to determine its own sexual identity.

AWWW

There are plenty of other interesting aspects of this show (Salon considers the race angle; Slate tackles the class issue), but the two that can’t be ignored are the gender dynamic and the class factor. The gender dynamic is pretty glorious: five strong, opinionated women who love each other deeply and don’t take anyone’s shit. They do what they want to do, they look how they want to look, and they are happy. Dare I suggest that one of the reasons the country’s spent its summer in thrall to these people is that we just don’t see women like this in our scripted entertainment?

Of course, it’s rare to see poor white people portrayed sympathetically on US TV at all. My understanding of class in the US is much less nuanced than my understanding of the British class system, but I’m aware of this country’s distaste for its own working poor. “Rednecks” appear in the media as rapists, as racists, as the butt of jokes and the object of revulsion. Voyeurism and disgust motivate hate-watching in our culture to an obscene degree, and that is why I think it’s important to perform a counterreading, to celebrate this family and refuse to let your responses be dictated by classism and hatred. If you want to be truly horrified by your fellow humans, check outthe comments on this Gawker article (I hope you have a strong stomach). To me, this is the aspect of Honey Boo Boo that’s truly awful – not a happy family letting a camera crew into their lives in exchange for some money they surely need, but the legions of haters who judge Honey Boo Boo and her family to be less human, less worthy of dignity and respect for their life choices, than themselves.

The family certainly does not reciprocate that sentiment. Even in the throes of labor agony, when asked, “Do you recommend to anybody else to get pregnant at 17?”, oldest daughter Anna replies, “Do whatever you want to do.” She just refuses to tell anyone else what to do with their body or their life. The rest of America – from legislators to judgmental internet commenters – could learn something from her.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax.